Not long after the first frost, the Mexican food carts that sell spiced mangoes and agua fresca through the summer switch to tall stockpots of champurrado and steamed tamales for winter. Champurrado, a warm, rib-sticking drink made from chocolate, milk, cinnamon, and masa (a form of cornmeal), is usually sipped at breakfast and frequently paired with sweet Mexican bread or tamales. It doesn’t have the peppy, caffeinated kick of cafe con leche or cappuccino; the effect is more like being wrapped in a soft woolen blanket, which is why many carts selling the drink cluster near el stations to lure commuters before a chilly wait on the platform: the thick, sweet beverage is the liquid version of an extra ten minutes in bed.
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Throughout small villages in Mexico, champurrado is a year-round breakfast staple, made at home or bought from street vendors. On December 12, the Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe, Mexican families gather at home for a traditional meal of tamales and champurrado. In Chicago, the drink is plentiful that weekend at many family-run Mexican restaurants.
For a large batch, the process takes two hours of constant attention. “You have to mix it constantly, and you must stir slowly,” says Dolores. Rapid stirring doesn’t give the cornmeal time to absorb the liquid, resulting in a thin, gritty mixture. Champurrado should be velvety and thick, warming the stomach without weighing it down.
Nuevo Latin restaurants like Nacional 27 serve gussied-up versions of the drink, combining chocolate syrup and vanilla with coffee to appeal to gringo palates. Jazzing up the mixture isn’t necessary, however. For those who live thousands of miles from their birthplace, says Ortiz, “champurrado reminds people of home.”
